Where

It will have to do.

If I tell you that the answer lies within what I can no longer remember,

it will just have to do.

Two roads diverged, as Mr Frost said - so, well and good.

He so succinctly described his own experience,

but which road I have then taken is not at all clear to me.

You know who I am.

I have been by your side

for a long time,

yet I remain something of a mystery

to you – and to me.

I must not be far from here,

the one I used to be,

and – or perhaps –

far from the one I might be in the morning.

All is not lost,

only me. And then only

parts of me, and

not for nothing,

I should note that

I have likely only misplaced

an idea of myself.

The moon was nearly as new as it could be

a few nights foregone, the points

of the upward pointing cusps separated by the width

of my outstretched thumb.

Venus, gleaming a little higher

looked about to drop straight down

and splash into the perfect bowl.

The ancients would have been able to tell the time

from such small things, they knew where

in the universe they were by

extrapolating from the regular

movements and positions of these

celestial bodies.

Where - that they could say clearly – 

only guessing why,

well, in that, they were a lot like us.

Yesterday evening, the moon, not quite a quarter - 

still the time I was unsure of; it had climbed higher in a clear sky,

darkening, but still lighter than the one I remembered from

a few nights earlier.

I had been walking alone then;

this evening you were by my side.

And then a little later we slept, side by side,

for some time.

And then I was awake, unsure

of where.

Those two roads diverging,

and then two more at the end of those,

and, then at the end of those four:

so many more,

and on and on into an infinite regression.

Oh Mr. Frost, Mr. Einstein – can anyone

help me now?

I will close my eyes, and let the

spinning go spinning on. And I will imagine that in time,

in due time, in less time than you can pinch

between your thumb and your forefinger,

I will have forgotten, or rather

I will have awakened, and hopefully,

remembered enough,

and you will be there beside me.

I will not bother you with details of where

I’ve been. How could you possibly understand?

I don’t know myself.

I believe that Mr. Frost was quite aware

of the additional questions posed by his elegant asking of

this one or the other one.

He would likely have tossed aside,

like so much used bedding in a barn,

some of the ways people have made simple principles

out of his poem.

To be sure, I have taken one path or the other,

some have led to significant results. It would take a fool

not to see that  - and there are some fools around.

But looking back, some choices and results seem clear enough,

but by no means all. And now,

I have merely come again to the beginning of Mr. Frost’s poem,

two roads diverging. He hasn’t made it any easier,

but then, I’m don’t think that was his intention.

The sky is lighting. One ball has slipped below one horizon.

The other about to ascend. Maybe I will slip between the sheets

next to you and close my eyes.

In a few hours, I’m pretty sure I can find my way to the Saturday

Farmer’s Market. If only you

might hold my hand

when I cross the street.